


Coming Home

by soufflegirl91



Series: Souffle's 007 Fest 2020 Fancreations [52]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Bond coming home from his last field mission, Collab prompt, M/M, but it is fluffy, it's probably not SUPER sappy, longer than a drabble for once, look old potato Bond is my thing this Fest ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:28:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25614334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soufflegirl91/pseuds/soufflegirl91
Summary: “The Captain has turned off the seatbelt sign, you may now begin to disembark. Thank you for flying with British Airways, we hope you enjoy your time in London.”James undid his seatbelt, standing up with a stretch. His suit was wrinkled, he was beyond tired, and he desperately needed a shower. But he was back on British soil. He’d survived. Actually made it to retirement. Wasn’t that a novel concept.
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Series: Souffle's 007 Fest 2020 Fancreations [52]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1809892
Comments: 40
Kudos: 110
Collections: 007 Fest Fancreations





	Coming Home

**Author's Note:**

> For the collab prompt table - 10Kiaoi prompted "airport"
> 
> This finishes off the collab prompt table :D 
> 
> I took some very light inspiration from dhampir72’s truly lovely [Sigh No More,](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1536410) though I didn’t re-read it so any similarities in the writing are entirely accidental. You should go and read that fic if you haven’t already, because it’s wonderful.

“The Captain has turned off the seatbelt sign, you may now begin to disembark. Thank you for flying with British Airways, we hope you enjoy your time in London.”

James undid his seatbelt, standing up with a stretch. His suit was wrinkled, he was beyond tired, and he desperately needed a shower. But he was back on British soil. He’d survived. Actually made it to retirement. Wasn’t that a novel concept.

If you had asked the James Bond of five years ago whether or not he expected to live long enough to retire, he would have laughed in your face. Of course he didn’t. Live fast and die young. It was the double-oh way. Or at least, it had been. A lot had happened in those five years. Change of leadership. Changes in the way missions were carried out. Q. 

_ Q. _

Q was the biggest change. Q was why James was looking retirement straight in the eye and shaking its hand instead of running away with a not-so-secret death wish. 10 years since Vesper. 10 years as a double-oh, most of those spent living firmly in the moment. Four years since meeting Q, at the lowest point in his life. Lower even than after Venice. At least after Venice, he’d had the option of revenge. After Istanbul, after Skyfall, there had been no one to get revenge  _ on _ . Silva was dead. 

_ M _ was dead. 

Not that he had wanted revenge on M, particularly. Bond knew enough about being a trigger waiting to be pulled than to blame Eve for following orders. There was no one for him to go after, to blame for the circumstances that had left him homeless and grieving with a fucked up shoulder. He was… adrift. Had it not been for Q, quietly checking up on him, magically appearing in a bar whenever James was one finger of whisky away from doing something ill-advised, James doesn’t know what would have happened. 

Whatever course his life would have taken without Q, he wouldn’t be stepping off this plane into the cold, damp London air after surviving his final mission. Ready to go return to the flat he shared with Q and their 2 cats, and the two weeks off they’d both booked before James started in his new role. 

He doesn’t know what would have happened, but he knows this is better. 

As he makes his way through the airport and the blessedly short queue at passport control, he wonders what the next 10 years will hold. Maybe they’ll get a little place in the country. Q hates flying, and James has had enough jet setting to last him a dozen lifetimes. A cottage in the Cotswolds, or Devon, maybe. Or maybe they’d join the droves of people renting out places on AirBnB so that they could travel the country. If Q could cope with the lack of internet security. He’d probably take his own hotspot with him. 

He skips the baggage claim. It had been a short mission, no more than carry-on luggage. He wonders if he can convince Q to stop for breakfast on the way back. 

For the first time since he was a child, James isn’t afraid of the future. He looks at the years stretching ahead of him, and he can’t  _ wait _ to spend them with Q.

Going through the doors to Arrivals, he spots a familiar mop of hair. Q’s stood on his toes, neck craning to see over the crowds. As if James could ever,  _ ever, _ fail to notice him. 

He can tell the moment Q spots him. His face lights up into the brightest grin in the room. He doesn’t raise a hand to wave, but he starts weaving through the crowds, coming up to meet James in the middle. James comes to a halt a step away from Q and just has time to brace himself before Q is throwing his arms around his neck and holding on tight. James brings his own arms up around Q’s waist and holds on just as tightly, breathing in the scent of his shampoo and finally,  _ finally _ feeling like he’s back on solid ground.

“You’re home,” Q murmurs in his ear.

“Yes,” he says into Q’s hair. “I’m home now.” 


End file.
